


Allergic

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron





	Allergic

Coming up out of the dream, he was vomiting before his eyes could even open, struggling to wake and turn his head to avoid choking at the same time, feeling the tug of the needle in his arm, trying to keep him flat. A hand hit his shoulder, hard, holding him up as the needle was withdrawn for him and thrown somewhere. 

"Easy, now." That's Arthur's voice, and the sound of it makes him relax. If Arthur's in charge, it's all right. Whatever "it" is. "Here." Arthur wipes his mouth with something between spasms. 

He's levered all the way up to a seated position and then Arthur holds him and moves him to something sturdier than the chairs they dream in. Slaps what feels like a wastebasket into his hands. "Puke in that. Hey, hand me that -" The latter is clearly addressed to someone else. Then he's talking to Eames again, hand cupping the side of his head. "Eames, you hear me?" 

He coughs, throat raw, trapped in the helpless knowledge that his body wasn't done. "Ugh. Yeah. Arthur." 

"Good. Want to try opening your eyes?" 

Eames doesn't shake his head, that's too dangerous a move right now, he can tell. He frees a hand from his death grip on the wastebasket in his arms and waggles in something resembling a 'no'. 

"Jesus, Linda, what did you dose him with?" 

Eames hears their chemist rattle something off but he can't follow. He feels clammy and dizzy, but Arthur's got him, so it'll be okay. 

"Is that mix made with egg whites?" 

Linda says something that must be in the affirmative because Arthur says sternly. "You idiot. Did you even read my protocol info? You can't give that to Eames, he's allergic." 

Eames is too focused on the delicate balance of his body's functions and the need to stay upright to bother agreeing with him. It's a relief, really, to let Arthur lay into her for him and save him all that energy and trouble. Good man, Arthur. 

At some point as Arthur's winding down in his diatribe he puts his hand on Eames' back and Eames vomits again. 

This cycle goes on for longer than Eames cares to contemplate, Arthur soothing Eames' physical distress, Eames experiencing the physical distress, until there's nothing left inside him. His eyes are puffy when Arthur finally gets him to pry them open. 

"Hey. Can you see me OK?" 

He thought his throat was raw before. Jesus. "Yeah. Arthur." 

"You wanna lie down?" 

"Don' wan' go nowhere." 

His voice is indulgent. "I'll do all the work." 

Arthur shushing him and overriding him shouldn't really be so appealing, given that he does a professional version of just that on a fairly regular basis, but letting Arthur decide to move him and how suits Eames just fine. He surrenders the wastebasket for a moment and is lifted up and manipulated into the corner of a sofa he'd half-forgotten, wedging him against pillows to support his back. Head spinning, he holds out his hand for the wastebasket and gets it slapped against his palm with all the precision of an operating room nurse, right on cue. 

God bless Arthur, he never drops a stitch. 


End file.
